Where The Faithful Part No More
by patsan
Summary: In the dim light of the new day, she finds him by the shore. Post-WWII AU.


Inspired by an old pic (which I used as a cover here, author unknown) and a wonderful book I've been reading, this leap into the realm of AU is dedicated to whatifthisstormends.

Enjoy!

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**Where The Faithful Part No More**

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_Scotland, October 1945_

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"I thought I would find you here."

He smiles, but he doesn't turn around, balancing himself easily, gaze lost on some far away point on the wide expanse of water in front of him.

His eyes slide over his shoulder though, and he catches a glimpse of her as she comes closer, the gravel and stones of the shore crunching under her soles.

"And you would be right," he comments when she stops, just a few feet away from him.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asks in that velvety voice he's so used to now, soft one would say, if not for that vibrant, rich note of passion that pervades everything about her.

Everything he's come to know over the past two weeks.

"I woke up very early," he says, and it's not a complete lie, and not for the first time since they met he wonders what is it about her that makes it so easy to leave all pretences behind.

She does not speak, but a corner of her mouth is curved upward, and her eyes are alight with a knowing glint.

He sees she understands what he's not saying, and the reason why she does makes him press his lips together, flashes of misery, and danger, and never ending pain clouding his gaze for only a moment.

"Matthew," she says, and when he glances up she's suddenly close, long, cold fingers touching his wrist.

He blinks, and looks down at her, just as her hand falls away, leaving a vague warmth on his skin.

He flexes his fingers at the sensations, but then he grins, shrugging the shadows of the past away.

She moves away, and he lands on the shore besides her with a graceful little jump.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asks briskly, and she shakes her head no, soft waves of hair moving in the cold air with the movement.

She looks down for a moment, and he sees a hand sliding carefully over her stomach, smoothing down her wooden dress as a shadow seem to pass on her face.

He moves in closer, but he doesn't touch her, a useless question stuck on his tongue.

_Are you alright?_

She's not and he knows it, but she looks up and her smile is back in place, not open, but _there_, alongside with something in her eyes he can't quite put his finger on.

They're very close, he notices, and his breath catches in his throat suddenly at the thought, eyes dropping on her slightly open mouth, drawn to her barely touching lips.

He inches closer and their eyes meet.

The air around them stills.

She makes no move to deter him, and for a moment he thinks that all he has to do it to lean down and taste her, discover the softness of her lips, learn the smoothness of her skin under his fingertips.

He's leans, just a little, and the urge to give in to his desire makes the blood rush in his veins as he wonders if the reality of her matches his dreams, those sultry, sensual images that keep coming back at him now and then, since the moment they met, and even more since that one night of shared drinks and dances in the empty hall of their small hotel.

What she told him that night gives him pause, though, and he finally sees that the curve of her shoulder under her shawl is tight and tense.

He swallows, and his eyes search hers for a long moment, both of them holding their breath.

Eventually he steps back. Not much, just enough for them to breath normally again.

He looks deeply into her eyes and smiles.

"I was thinking about walking down to the village, have a late breakfast there," he says slowly, eyeing her closely. "Maybe you would care to join me, Miss Crawley?"

The corners of her mouth turn up, and Matthew feels himself relax for the first time since he rolled out of his bed with a groan this morning.

"There's a rather nice pastry shop I've been meaning to visit," she says, and Matthew nods.

"It sounds perfect," he says, and they begin walking up the shore, heading back to the small hotel they both seem to have elected as their temporary residence for the last couple of weeks.

_Or is it more like a haven?_ he wonders as he follows her up the path that leads to the old building.

Then, suddenly, Mary turns to him, and she asks him how his writing is going, and if he's decided what to do with the shady figure of Mr. Ramones.

It's an easy question, even a casual one, but Matthew cannot answer for Mary is a vision in the dim light of the new day, the sun behind her, the wind blowing her hair in all directions, moving frantically the hem of her dress around her slim, pale legs.

Her eyes are a mystery, but they shine with warmth and something else that Matthew tries very hard not to mistake for affection.

His heart jumps in his ribcage regardless and he grins helplessly up at her as he takes a deep, deep breath.

It doesn't matter why they're here now, he thinks, or what they are running away from.

The nightmares, and the guilt, the sorrow, the regret, they hardly count here.

For some reason, they are here together now, the companionship they've found in each other - whatever this strange relationship they've forged actually is - a balm to their wounded souls.

Maybe it's true that sometimes a stranger can understand you better than the people who are close you to, Matthew muses, but he doesn't know that for sure, because there's no one there anymore, no one that really matters, and he doesn't want to think about it, not now.

He only wants to think about the day ahead, about their walk to the village and about their shared meal, one of the many in just a short turn of time.

He only wants to think about Mary's witty remarks, and her amused eyes.

He only wants to listen to her laugh, and to be entangled by her piercing beauty and by that something about her that has kept him awake till the wee hours of the morning last night and a few nights before that, typing madly into the darkness, a lone lamp on the table lighting his words as ink fixed them on sheet after sheet of paper and he wrote of Marie, a dark haired riddle who comes suddenly into the life of Rudolph Ramones, and turns his whole world upside down.

He smiles at Mary, now standing a few feet away from him on the narrow street.

They stopped walking.

"I think I might have," he says, "but in a rather unexpected way."

She tilts her head to the side, one eyebrow raising in curiosity.

"Won't you tell me?" she asks, and her voice is teasing whisper, soon carried away by the wind.

"I'll do better than that," he says enigmatically as he decides then and there that he'll have her read the manuscript once it's done.

He never does that, but it's different now, and she's the reason why. He's going to tell her later.

He resumes walking with a spring in his step as he comes close to her and them moves past her, but she catches him right away and they're side by side once again.

It feels nice, he thinks.

It feels natural.

He turns to look at her and smiles.

Mary smiles back.

The keep walking together in companionable silence, the small shadow of their hotel finally coming into view at the end of the street.

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_I saw the old pic in question just a few days ago, and the man looks so very much like Dan Stevens that a scenario took hold of my mind. I had no idea what to do with it till yesterday, when inspiration to finish this ficlet finally came. _

_In this post WWII AU scenario, Matthew is a writer who made his fortune before the war, and is trying to find inspiration again in one of the few places that still bears some resemblance to the pre-war world he knew, while Mary is a survivor running away from a past that always threatens to catch up on her. _

_They meet by chance in a small hotel in Scotland and forge an unlikely friendship. Or is there more to it?_

_There will probably be more of this in the future, but for now I'm marking the story as complete._

_I hope you all enjoyed it, and if you have a moment, I'd be thrilled to know what you thought.  
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_Till next time :)_


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